Carmela: Host mom, some 40 years old. A leader of the women at the church. As a mother she has to spend a lot of time in the oftentimes smoky kitchen, making tortillas over the wood fire (which she sometimes does to the beat of a song), but when you are in the kitchen with her, she is a fun person to talk with. She is not as much of a jokester as Matias, but she also laughs rather easily and is easier to have a sustained conversation with. I have had some very fun chats with her in the kitchen. Along with normal cooking duties, she also sometimes has to chop wood into smaller pieces sometimes too. She is very dedicated to the church, very confident in God and his work on earth, and she is an extremely good prayer. I have watched her launch brooms like spears at ducks and chickens in part of the never ending battle to keep them out of the kitchen.
Jordan
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Memory and coming to terms with the end
I have always known that one year sounded short, even if at times it defiantly felt long. But about a month ago MCC sent us information on preparing to come home, two days ago I sat in one of my favorite places in Cobán, drinking a strong mixture of some of the best coffees in Alta Verapaz (famous for it´s coffee fincas) along with cake and surrounded by beautiful and rare orchids and wrote a list of things I should still try to do, personal and work related, and then sat down to writing what might serve as my toast to Elijah at his and Sina´s stateside wedding reception. Beginning to prepare for something outside of Guatemala is probably the most notable sign that soon I will leave.
I still have a month and a half, but the middle part of that month and a half will be taken up by travel with MCC, travel to visit some students, and then travel with Jenny. And the months have been passing by flying. May past by as fast as its´ frequent afternoon showers come and go. One losses himself in the overwhelming power of the rain and thunder, and in a few hours, its´ chaos seems like a strange dream.
Yesterday I went running along a little route along a river. The river is bigger and faster, and if possible, maybe even a little bit greener than the last time I ran along it. I ran past recently seeded corn fields, hills that have been replanted with trees, and a group of women or two doing their washing. There was a beautiful light sprinkle perfect for running, but I did not push myself but went slowly and enjoyed my solitude on the small path which sometimes is simply the path that a water line going to Carchá follows. I wondered what this place will look like in my memory. Memory lies, but I think in the case of a traveler, photography is the bigger culprit. I thought as I ran that it would be nice if I could have my camera along, but I am sure that I would take no picture that would be satisfactory. At the same time that I don´t trust my camera to capture what I see, I also know that I need to take some more pictures, and fast, of my host family and students at Bezaleel. It really is too bad that here people do not smile for pictures. Even the people who otherwise seem to not be able to stop smiling and laughing, will turn dead serious for a photo.
Thankfully, in my memory, they will be smiling. And in my memory, the river I run along side will still look like melted jade. And the water from the spring at the end of the run will be sweeter than I can describe. In my memory, my host mom will be looking down at me, while in my photo I´ll be head and shoulders above her.
Photos really are such liars.
Jordan
I still have a month and a half, but the middle part of that month and a half will be taken up by travel with MCC, travel to visit some students, and then travel with Jenny. And the months have been passing by flying. May past by as fast as its´ frequent afternoon showers come and go. One losses himself in the overwhelming power of the rain and thunder, and in a few hours, its´ chaos seems like a strange dream.
Yesterday I went running along a little route along a river. The river is bigger and faster, and if possible, maybe even a little bit greener than the last time I ran along it. I ran past recently seeded corn fields, hills that have been replanted with trees, and a group of women or two doing their washing. There was a beautiful light sprinkle perfect for running, but I did not push myself but went slowly and enjoyed my solitude on the small path which sometimes is simply the path that a water line going to Carchá follows. I wondered what this place will look like in my memory. Memory lies, but I think in the case of a traveler, photography is the bigger culprit. I thought as I ran that it would be nice if I could have my camera along, but I am sure that I would take no picture that would be satisfactory. At the same time that I don´t trust my camera to capture what I see, I also know that I need to take some more pictures, and fast, of my host family and students at Bezaleel. It really is too bad that here people do not smile for pictures. Even the people who otherwise seem to not be able to stop smiling and laughing, will turn dead serious for a photo.
Thankfully, in my memory, they will be smiling. And in my memory, the river I run along side will still look like melted jade. And the water from the spring at the end of the run will be sweeter than I can describe. In my memory, my host mom will be looking down at me, while in my photo I´ll be head and shoulders above her.
Photos really are such liars.
Jordan
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
GIVE ME MY MONEY, HOLLISTER
I see all these Hollister “CALIFORNIA” shirts around here in Guatemala and I have to wonder where Hollister gets off selling me so shamelessly. Where did it find the audacity? I was born and raised in California. I am a living part of the legend that Hollister so shamelessly uses to sell it´s T-shirts. I have even visited other states, Europe, South America, and now Guatemala, in effect, spreading the coolness and popularity of California all around the world. When people ask me where I am from, I don´t say the United States, I say, California.
And now Hollister is taking the name California all around the world (right into the lonely Guatemala mountains), printing it on T-shirts and in the process turning what was once cool about California into factory produced lameness. Who gave Hollister the right to make the name California synonymous with preppy, act like I am too cool for school, pretend to be rebellious high schoolers with nothing better to do but shop in malls for shirts that are too tight. I feel like Snoop Dogg and every rap enthusiast in Los Angeles must have felt when the author of “Gin and Juice” went on to sell “Big Macs and Apple Pie” at that wonderful joint, McDonalds.
Betrayed. We can only hope that the people from Hollister are a bit more ashamed than Snoop Dogg was.
At least anybody who has to pay bills can understand Snoop Doggs selling out, but I don´t see a fat wad of money in MY pocket.
That´s right. Betrayed once again by shameless business practices. Hollister is stealing. Not only are they not giving me and my friends from California the money that we deserve, they are doing something far worse: They are stealing my identity. How am I supposed to continue saying that I am from California when hearing the name fires of the same synapses in peoples brains as those ugly little letters, “AF.”
Hollister is, metaphorically speaking, doing the same thing that Canadian gold companies are doing in Guatemala. That is ripping apart mountains, contaminating water, and paying small wages in exchange for gold being sold around the world. Myself and other Californians are the gold being sold around the world, and it is our souls that are being ripped apart.
Obama, your governmental regulations on business practices are not nearly tough enough. I want money for property damage. Essentially Hollister is lowering the value of all California property. I want money for the time I spend with a shrink trying to find a new identity for myself that isn´t bottled up and plastered onto high school boys chests. I want Holister charged for identity theft, and I want them to pay. I want a shirt that says, I am California, and I hate Hollister.
Jordan
Ps. I used to have no answer to fellow students in Kansas when they would ask me why I decided to move (in a baffled tone of voice). Now I do… and it is written on thousands of 20 dollar shirts.
And now Hollister is taking the name California all around the world (right into the lonely Guatemala mountains), printing it on T-shirts and in the process turning what was once cool about California into factory produced lameness. Who gave Hollister the right to make the name California synonymous with preppy, act like I am too cool for school, pretend to be rebellious high schoolers with nothing better to do but shop in malls for shirts that are too tight. I feel like Snoop Dogg and every rap enthusiast in Los Angeles must have felt when the author of “Gin and Juice” went on to sell “Big Macs and Apple Pie” at that wonderful joint, McDonalds.
Betrayed. We can only hope that the people from Hollister are a bit more ashamed than Snoop Dogg was.
At least anybody who has to pay bills can understand Snoop Doggs selling out, but I don´t see a fat wad of money in MY pocket.
That´s right. Betrayed once again by shameless business practices. Hollister is stealing. Not only are they not giving me and my friends from California the money that we deserve, they are doing something far worse: They are stealing my identity. How am I supposed to continue saying that I am from California when hearing the name fires of the same synapses in peoples brains as those ugly little letters, “AF.”
Hollister is, metaphorically speaking, doing the same thing that Canadian gold companies are doing in Guatemala. That is ripping apart mountains, contaminating water, and paying small wages in exchange for gold being sold around the world. Myself and other Californians are the gold being sold around the world, and it is our souls that are being ripped apart.
Obama, your governmental regulations on business practices are not nearly tough enough. I want money for property damage. Essentially Hollister is lowering the value of all California property. I want money for the time I spend with a shrink trying to find a new identity for myself that isn´t bottled up and plastered onto high school boys chests. I want Holister charged for identity theft, and I want them to pay. I want a shirt that says, I am California, and I hate Hollister.
Jordan
Ps. I used to have no answer to fellow students in Kansas when they would ask me why I decided to move (in a baffled tone of voice). Now I do… and it is written on thousands of 20 dollar shirts.
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